


Impractical Problems

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Derogatory Language, F/M, Inappropriate Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hightower always gave him such a great view of his coworkers being jackasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impractical Problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pemm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemm/gifts).



> Mercs being huge assholes and canon-typical content (language, violence, mentions of drugging, attitudes, etc.) No Canadians were hurt in the making of this.
> 
> Thanks to Multiversecafe for betaing. Feel better, Pemm!

There was little Demoman liked more than watching his comrades and the other side kill each other in the day to day life. He kept chairs in all the best vantage points to watch the grudge matches go down. It was far better than anything on TV. Hell, two Engineers had about blown up an entire base over some petty fight. He took a swig of scrumpy as he took the 'borrowed' sniper rifle to peer through the rifle scope. That'd teach the Aussie bastard to try and challenge him to a drinking contest. Even if he had kidneys the size of melons, Demoman's liver was nigh indestructible. 

Hightower always gave him such a great view of his coworkers being jackasses. 

He saw a red blip running through towards a bit of purple. He focused more, and recognized Scout in some elaborate uniform that made him look even more like a bloody idiot than usual.

"The hell? Ye been puttin' drugs in me scrumpy again?" Demoman said.

The Spy from his team appeared from thin air nearby. He had an impressive stack of pinups underneath one arm, all featuring some lovely dark haired lass.

"That was our employer, not me," Spy said.

"Aye, wouldn't be the first time they've drugged me." He let out a massive belch. "They heard about how me liver can take about anythin'."

"Everyone in the world knows about your liver. There are corporations that would kill to get a shot at it," Spy said.

"Aye, me liver's popular. They have to step in line."

He lifted the rifle scope and watched again. Scout began to dance, his impressively tall tower of hats teetering from side to side as he preformed for the decidedly unimpressed Miss Pauling. The red outfit looked even more ridiculous than Scout's pants, which Spy had actually stolen from a retirement home and sold to Scout at an incredible price by telling him some baseball star had touched them. Some kind of poofy thing with those pants, big boots, a bunch of hats stacked on top of one another. 

Miss Pauling did not look particularly impressed. 

Demoman laughed so hard that he nearly teetered over from his chair. He balanced the rifle on his knee— Sniper would have his head mounted on his wall if Demoman ever ruined his guns.

"Whatever ye did, it's workin'," Demoman said.

"I–" Spy broke into another fit of snorting laughter. "—told him that Canadians have a strict 'mating dance,' and that's why she hasn't gone out with him. He should start singing _O Canada_ in a minute, while doing the _traditional beaver dance_."

"You bloody evil genius," Demoman said. "Tell me you took pictures."

"As if you had to ask. They'll be developed and pasted all over every wall before the day is done."

At that point, Scout looked back. They weren't so far off that their laughter couldn't be heard, especially not the burst-a-gut, fall out of the chair laughter. His face turned in the rifle scope to pure murder, as he sprinted up towards them.

"Ye know, he's goin' to kill you," Demoman said.

"He'll try," Spy said dismissively. "But he'll have to actually find me, first. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some new additions to put to his collection."

It finally came to mind where he'd seen the women in the girly magazines. Back when Spy's promo video came out, which might as well have been called _well fuck me, I'm fucking James Bond, and I'm fucking your mother._ For weeks afterwards, stills from the video were found on doors, walls, etched with care into bathroom walls and Scout's room.

Spy vanished seconds before Scout burst in, his tower of hats surprisingly still in place.

"Where'd he go? Where'd that asshole go? I-I swear I'm goin' to kill him!"

Demoman shrugged. "Nobody knows, lad. Spies."

"Fuck, I'll tear the whole base f-friggin' apart!"

He was flushed about as red as his thick jacket, which made out the rest of the costume. Mountie, that's what it was called! The meaning of the word had completely slipped his mind, but then he remembered the many dirty jokes he'd exchanged with Soldier. Their weekly outings consisted mostly of Soldier of insulting every other country around, while Demoman improved his dirty joke collection. 

"Sniper's hungover. He's probably in the bathroom, writin' dirty limericks over the urinal again."

Spy so did love it when his teammates got hungover. He stocked up on bullhorns and bright lights just for those times. He had a special fondness for doing this to Snipers, whether they were on his own team or not.

"I get dibs on punchin' him in the face!" Scout leapt out, not waiting for a reply.

Demoman took one last sip. It was probably about time to change his vantage, or he'd miss the bloodbath. But before he could get up, he heard heels on the doorway.

Miss Pauling stepped up and peered inside. "Did you see where Spy went?"

"Somewhere where he can torment that poor lad, that's for sure," Demoman said.

"Outsiders aren't supposed to know about the dance," Miss Pauling said quietly.

For a second, he started to laugh. Ah, this girl had a sense of humor. But she didn't laugh with him. It came to mind maybe Canadians had a lot more secrets than he knew about. 

"Lassie, no one could ever accuse you of having a boring life," Demoman said.

"Tell me about it," she said.

"But you gotta say, a lad who's willing to make a fool of himself even more than usual. That's somethin', considerin' the source."

She didn't respond, but then her expression softened, ever so much.

"He did pretty well for a beginner, but he didn't have his snowshoes," she said.

"Give him a pair, and he'll dance all night," Demoman said.

"We'll see how he fares with the bear hunting," she said.

Well, he knew what his next drunken outing with Soldier would entail. Punching hippies was getting a little stale, anyways. He always came out smelling like patchouli and with flowers crowns braided into his hair and beard. But teaching the lad to punch out bears would be a challenge he'd be willing to take on if it meant he could have weekends free where Scout didn't try and lecture him on chemicals he couldn't even pronounce the names of.

She smiled. "It'll be a lot more noisy in a few minutes. Sniper's likely woken up by now."

He had to envy her a little. Up in her little metal tower, she got to watch them all be assholes and kill each other daily. And that was just about the best show around. 

"Aye, can you at least let them beat each other up a little? For old time's sake?" Demoman said.

"Spy's already gotten the other team into it. If you hurry, you should be able to see quite a bloodbath," Miss Pauling said.

He was glad they understood each other. He gave her a salute and plucked up his sticky launcher. Somewhere, someone on base was being an idiot, and he'd be damned if he didn't get to laugh at them.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone knows the REAL Canadian mating dance involves Zambonis and Timbits. For the record, I actually love Mountie outfits. I blame Due South for this.


End file.
